


Strictly Professional

by SteadyLittleSoldier



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Break Up, Christmas, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Fluff, Humor, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Medias res, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Self-Hatred, Shame, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteadyLittleSoldier/pseuds/SteadyLittleSoldier
Summary: "Mr. Chalamet, I am sorry to interrupt. Is there anything else I can help you with?""Mr. Chalamet?! Armie..."The professor ground his teeth. "That is Professor Hammer to you, young man. Now, I would appreciate it if you didn't contact me about this and didn't address me improperly again. Is that understood?"Timmy's eyes stung without his permission. Terrified, embarrassed, and hurt. "Yes, Professor."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Took a break from studying to write this shit up

_2019_

Timmy tapped his foot impatiently, making the girl sitting beside him throw him glances. He couldn’t care less. Finally, something was happening. _ Something _... He couldn’t wait. When the students started to leave the class, he ran down to catch the professor before he left.

"Yes?" asked the baritone.

"Still on for tonight?"

The professor looked up to see who it was and furrowed his brows. "If you have anything to ask about the course, please contact me during the consultation hour, I have a class now," he says while gathering his papers.

“No, it’s just that… you said we’d talk.” Timmy chuckles nervously. "Come on, Armie, you know it's not about school. Come at eight tonight, I'll make-"

"Then I don't know why you are talking to me, Mr. Chalamet, I am sorry to interrupt. Is there anything else I can help you with?" He made to leave.

"Mr. Chalamet?! Why are you being like this?"

"Look, I don't want to get arrested, or worse, sacked with a reputation. So please-"

"Armie, I'm not gonna report- "

The professor ground his teeth. His eyes flared at the audacity. "That is Professor Hammer to you, young man. Now, I would appreciate it if you forget about and don't breathe a word of what happened and don't address me improperly ever again. Is that understood?"

Timmy’s eyes stung without his permission. He stood there like a dummy. Terrified, embarrassed, and hurt. "Y-yes, Professor." 

"Good. I'll see you in class, Mr. Chalamet."

* * *

Saoirse didn't notice Timmy sneaking out into the balcony but he knew she would find his seat empty soon enough. Thank god he got two beers out with him. He patted his pockets. _ God, please... I need them... Aha! _

He pulled out a bent cigarette from his pocket. God knows how long it had been there, how many times it had been sat on. But he was thankful. He lit it up and there she was.

"Are you crazy? It's freezing out here."

"I need-"

"You needed some air?"

"Please stop cutting me off."

Saoirse frowned. Stop? When had she cut him off the last time? "Oh, so you need that sort of air." She chuckled but Timmy didn't join her. He kept letting the smoke out through his nose and, leaning onto the railing, stared into the middle distance. "Come on, you're missing the movie." She tugged at his elbow.

"You go on. I'll be there in a minute."

She looked down at the beer bottles. "Or two."

Timmy tried to laugh it off but it was as though his facial muscles wouldn't budge and he ended up choking out a weird noise.

"Come on, what's wrong, Timmy?"

He shook his head before he asked honestly, "am I not likable _ at all _?"

Saoirse chuckled. "What, Hammer told you off in class again? You should drop his course."

That was true. Professor Hammer had been pretty callous to him even before what happened between them happened.

Timmy shook his head. "It's just I behave like a baboon whenever I open my mouth in front of him. And I feel so pathetic." His eyes stung again. _ Stupid! _ He hoped Saoirse couldn't see the glaze of his eyes in the dark. "He is right, I don't deserve even the minimum respect. Damn, even _ I _ wouldn't respect someone like me."

"Or we can settle on the fact that Hammer is an asshole and his class is popular only because he is a hunk."

He hissed as the cigarette burned his finger. He had completely forgotten about it. He threw it away and put his finger in his mouth. "That's not true. He's brilliant."

"Oh God, you'd think he’s a saint even if he had killed someone. Do you idolize him or something? He's an asshole, Timmy, wake up, everybody knows that."

But Timmy knew that to be not true. Professor Hammer's assholery was a facade that he hid his insecurity behind. He was sensitive and soft when he was disarmed and completely open. Like he had been that night in Timmy's arms. But that's not something he could talk about, he couldn't risk it, for the professor’s sake. "He's strict, that's all." 

"He gave me a C. My one and only C in my whole fucking university life. I'm never forgiving him for that."

* * *

It was nearing eleven when they left Jacob's apartment and headed towards campus. He walked Saoirse back to her dorm even though he got hit for offering. "Are you trying to court me? Do you think this is the eighteen hundreds?"

"Shut up and walk with me. I would like to not drown in self-loathing for a little longer."

Saoirse's features softened. She knew Timmy struggled. "Pony... drop his course if it's doing more damage than good." 

Timmy attempted to roll his eyes without giving himself a headache. "Can we please not talk about him?"

"What do you wanna talk about then? What about that girl you were trying to flirt with?"

"Sonya. She won't have it."

"She gave you her number though."

"Only because I nagged her to death."

"Text her."

"I did. Last week. She read-zoned me."

"Plenty of fish in the water."

"None of which would have me." He shrugged. "And it's not like I am desperate to have a relationship or anything... I understand, though. I mean, what do I have to offer? Personality of a shoe brush."

Saoirse stopped walking abruptly. "Timmy, what's going on? I mean this is more than your regular moping. What did he say this time?"

Timmy kept looking down because he didn't know if he could risk looking up and showcase his vulnerability without feeling even more pathetic about it.

"Tim..."

"I just... um, I... I feel- I feel disgusted with myself, Saoirse. I hate my actions and I hate that I know that I'll do all of that again... And I hate the way people treat me, even you sometimes, and I know that it has nothing to do with them being assholes but has everything to do with me being a pathetic little shit and I don't wanna be like this anymore."

They breathed together for a while before Saoirse cupped his face. "One day, Timmy, one day someone's gonna love you so damn much that you will start to love yourself because you’ll see yourself in her eyes, see how beautiful, how brilliant you are. Until then, can you please listen to me and start respecting yourself or no one else will."

* * *

Timmy didn't want to believe it at first. The silhouette of a giant man standing under the streetlamp, smoke clouding around his face. Unmistakably, the silhouette of-

"Professor Hammer?"

He didn't look like he had just been found out. He took his time crushing the burning end of his cigarette against the bin before letting it fall into it unlike Timmy who had just thrown it off the balcony. 

"Can I help you with something, sir?" 

It felt weird talking to him in this way after he had held his naked body under him. But Timmy didn't dare. Professor Hammer felt disrespected this morning. Timmy can't repeat that. It _ was _inappropriate.

He walked towards him with his hands in his pocket. A scarf wrapped around his neck with an intricate knot under his long coat. Smoke still coming out of his full mouth. "I am actually here to see you."

Timmy looked up at his dorm building. "How do you know where I live...? Or that I'm not already inside? If- if you don't mind me asking, sir."

"I know things, Timotheé," said Professor Hammer before he cringed at his own words and shook his head. "Did that… do I creep you out?"

Timmy kept looking at him, dumbstruck. 

Truth be told, Professor Hammer had come here because he was terrified. Terrified that Timmy would blabber to his friends or try to take revenge for being told off like that. He would go to the dean, maybe also the police. He would perhaps call it rape. Why wouldn't he? What happened was atrocious, disgraceful. He didn't even know this Timotheé Chalamet. But upon seeing his puffy eyes, his mooshed hair, the red tip of his nose poking out through the fluffy muffler that he wrapped around his neck and over his mouth, his confused eyes that, looking back, almost always looked sad, made Professor Hammer reconsider. Was he actually capable of doing such a thing?

"Look, I apologize… for my behavior this morning. I should have listened to you. The fault is mine."

"No… no, I should be apologizing, sir. It wasn't appropriate. Far from it."

"What's not appropriate is what happened that night. Does that make you feel disgusted?"

Timmy didn't answer again.

"I get it. You _ should _ be disgusted with me. I am the grown-up and I should have been the one to have stopped it. I wanted to let you know that I didn’t mean to- I mean… didn’t want to take advantage of- did you feel pressured somehow? I just want to make sure that I didn't hurt you in any way. You were drunk too perhaps-"

"And you were shitfaced. I was tipsy at most."

"That's-"

"Inappropriate. I know, sir."

The professor wondered where that sharp tongue had been the whole semester because whenever he opened his mouth in class, he made some dumb analysis. Could the professor really be blamed for telling him to ‘stop trying too hard.’ "Doesn't matter. Just tell me if it was 100% consensual, Timothée."

"I don't know, like I said, you were shitfaced, and you have to confirm the other 50%"

The professor sighed, annoyed.

_ Why do I always do this? _"Relax, sir, I've been wanting to get into your pants for a long time. And I was in control, so-"

"That is very, _ very, _ inappropriate, Timothée. Don't _ ever _ talk to me that way… until the end of the semester. And then _ never _take any of my courses ever again or I swear to God…"

Timmy is stunned for a second. A smile crept up on Timmy's face which the professor couldn't help but mirror. He turned around to hide it so as not to encourage Timmy.

"It's Timmy."

"What?"

"Nobody calls me Timothée."

"Til the end of the semester. I am Professor Hammer to you and you are Mr. Chalamet to me. And after, we can have the talk that you wanted. Okay?"

"Yes, Professor." 

He offered his hand that the professor took before saying goodnight.

When Timmy got into his room, he pulled out his phone and put a note on his calendar.

_ December 3rd: intro to philosophy final _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no plan of writing this...

_ 2026 _

It happens kind of the same way again. Timmy doesn't want to say that he followed him out. Nobody would notice Timmy's absence here. Not even him. Timmy didn't have many friends while he was in this university. God knows why he was invited to this reunion. And why he didn't decline is beyond his own understanding. But there he is, walking towards Timmy with his assured gate and that bloody golden band on his finger. Seven years, a long string of lovers - and Professor Hammer is still the most beautiful man Timmy has ever laid eyes on. 

He doesn't look surprised to see Timmy outside. So he _ did _ follow him.

"Why'd you leave?" 

_ Seven years. And the first thing you say is this? _

Timmy raises his fingers holding a burning cigarette as an answer.

"Can I get one? I left my pack at home." He walks up to sit beside Timmy on the tiny raised footpath. Timmy is swamped with his perfume. He has changed it since the last time they were this close, thank god. It doesn't bring back memories.

Without saying anything, Timmy simply gets his cigarette case out of his breast pocket and offers him. He has come a long way from smoking bent cigarettes.

"What are you up to these days?"

"Touring," says Timmy.

"Really? That's amazing! You're finally doing what you wanted."

Timmy patiently listens to him rambling about how happy he is for him, congratulating him. Then he takes a breath and smirks sadly at his own luck. "I can't believe you bought that."

Hammer furrows his brow.

"I'm not touring, are you crazy?" _Why are you pretending that you don't know? _"I'm doing some play off-Broadway." When Hammer doesn't react, he adds for his dignity's sake, "it's gonna be on Broadway though, in like six weeks or something." 

Hammer, then, smiles. "You're gonna be a celebrity. Never took you for the type."

Timmy chuckles and shakes his head. Being around him still hurts. He wanted to test that. He was sure it wouldn't hurt anymore up until the point the crowd divided to make way for this giant. He is still the center of anywhere he goes. He hurt like hell. And it's hurting still. What is he doing here? There is no future here. His university, this campus, his asshole batchmates who are probably loaded by now with a stable job and spouses and kids, his old crush along with the old pain right in the center of his chest - these are all things of the past. And dwelling in the past is an out-and-out crime.

_I'm gonna leave._

"I work my ass off six days a week, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here on my only day off."

Hammer shrugs "Easy. You've come here for me."

"Don't be such an asshole, Professor. It doesn't suit you anymore." Timmy stands up, marring the bud of the cigarette under his heel, making to leave.

"Why?" asks Hammer, still sitting on the footpath.

"Hm?"

"Why doesn't it suit me anymore?"

It stuns him for a second. But he quickly replies. "Because I've grown. I don't look at you with heart eyes anymore."

Hammer nods. Smiles. "So it's your perspective that's changed."

The first time they'd been together, Hammer wasn't even sure who Timmy was. His face looked familiar. But in that haze when the hands of the clock slump with your brain cells, everyone looks pretty. And Timmy had him at his lazy "hey". Leaned against the poachy wall with leisure, as though waiting in the bushes for his prey to feel comfortable before attacking. Hey, that's all it took. What conversation they shared, Hammer has long since forgotten. He was so drunk he was sure alcohol, not blood, was coursing through his veins. What he remembers is seeing the bush of curls bobbing over his pelvic area and remembering telling this bush off in class when he had found it bobbing with slumber in the middle of a lecture.

"You're in my class…."

Timmy smiled around the head of the cock. "Hello, professor." The cheeky devil.

By the time Timmy was pounding into his body, Hammer had made up his mind about quitting his job and going to an Indian ashram to spend the rest of his days there, as one does, if only he would be allowed this - getting fucked by his student.

That desire had spilled out of his body with the ejaculation it would seem, and what he was filled with instead was regret and shame.

"Just… just, let's talk sometime…" Timmy hesitated. Hammer wouldn't look back at him. He was turned towards the window, pretending to be asleep, knowing too well that he wouldn't sleep a wink tonight. "Is Friday okay? Cause I can't tomorrow, I have a test to prepare for. "

All Hammer did was hum. Even before the sun was up, he headed out for a long run. He wouldn't be back until he had to get ready for class. And thank God, as expected, Timmy had left. But he'd left a note.

_ I have class, gotta leave :) Friday _

_ _ -Timmy _ _

* * *

How could he not have known? Wasn't it obvious that they should end up like this again - his back pushed against the wall, huffing into each other's mouths - all this talk, one way or another, always his back against the wall?

Hammer's ringed hand roams all over his body. And when he takes him home, peels his clothes off one by one, "no rush" he says, touches his throbbing cock and it hurts and its cold again his skin, Timmy requests softly, "take the ring off?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

_2026_

_The same night_

"What was it that you wanted to do to me that night?"

Timmy registers what the Professor has just said. He wants to make his lips move to form his answer. But…  _ what was the question again? _

"Huh?" Hammer urges on as he tries to steady Timmy on his feet. 

Timmy is sure there is some sort of a chemical in the air of the Professor's apartment.  _ Wait… how did we get here?  _

He called a cab. Timmy has been on his lap the whole way. All he remembers is sapphire blue in the dark, in the red, green, yellow of the traffic light, and the pitter-patter of their lips.

"What?" Hammer sits him on the bed and, like an infant blindingly searching for its mother's chest, Timmy latches onto his lips. "What was it? That night… the first night."

Timmy remembers this. He was gentle with the Professor. But he wanted to do something the next time. Something that he jokingly let him know after. "Bey… ben…" he manages in his chemical haze.

"Bend me over, and?" the Professor helps.

"A-and… fuck you…"

"And fuck me from behind? We'll see about that." 

Hammer flips him over on the bed like a rag doll and there is something warm and sticky circling his hole. Timmy lets his dopey eyes rest finally, not fighting to see clear or make sense of it all. It's amazing. He can't remember when was the last time someone took this much time and care to massage him there. But then again, he can't remember a lot of things right now. But why deny the bliss that numbness of the mind brings. 

He calls out his name with the little self-control that he has and moans. "Armie…."

"Yes,  _ Armie  _ ."

_ I can call you that now.  _ He wants to say in reply.

After eons - or so it seems - when Armie is satisfied with his handiwork, he makes Timmy's ass arch up and presses a hand against his shoulders. "What a sight…."

It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt at all. Or is he numb again? Timmy opens his mouth in the silent exclamation of pleasure.  _ Finally, finally. I've missed you. My inside has missed you.  _

Hot liquid burns the skin of his nose as they glide down. This must be it, nirvana. All the philosophers must have been talking about this. Did they have their Professor Hammer too? _The erômenos to my erastês. My beloved._ They must have had. Because nothing else, no one else even compares. The whole of the universe inside him. Nothing exists outside his body, consisting both hemispheres. I am.  _ I am… _

Timmy is out of his mind. So he doesn't, he  _ can't  _ notice. And it takes a while for Armie to notice Timmy's mouth, open, sucking in air every ten second with a gobbling noise like a gaping fish out of the water. The side of his face flat against the bedding, his body limp, unmoving.

"Oh my god… oh god…" Armie pulls out and flips him on his back. "Timmy, hey…" He lightly slaps his cheek but Timmy won't open his eyes. Armie panics and grabs his phone, making him sit up against the headboard. Timmy's head doesn't wobble without support, at least he is alive. He opens his eyes by the time Armie presses his phone against his ear. 

"911. What's your emergency?"

Timmy slowly gets the phone from Armie's ear and disconnects the call.

"Hey… you okay?" Armie touches his shoulder, trying to see his face for signs of discomfort.

Timmy puts up a hand to make him stop crowding him. The same hand goes to rest against his own chest. A hollowing pain there. As though a magnet is instilled there, a magnet that pulls muscles, blood, air. And there is no place to accommodate the air that he sucks in. An air-eater resides within him. The gobbling noise continues for a good fifteen minutes. He tries to relax his tightening muscles, muscles that have received the signal of panic. The more he struggles, the worse it will get.

Armie is sat there frozen, asking dumbly if he is okay, if there is anything he can do.

When Timmy opens his eyes again, he feels dizzy. He attempts a smile at Armie whose eyes are still wide and bewildered. "You can touch me now," says Timmy, using the least amount of air.

Armie blinks and breathes. "What… what I did I do?"

"You didn't… my lungs. Haven't been the same since the infection. Gets worse in winter… in that position."

The Professor takes in the information. Blink. "When?"

"Couple of years ago."

"And you  _ still  _ smoke.”

Timmy wants to laugh but he doesn’t know if his lungs can take it right now. 

"You moron.... Even I quit.”

“But you said-”

“I didn’t forget my pack, genius.”

Of course, now that he thinks about it, of course. Professor Hammer never forgot his smoke and his morning jog.  _ What did the years do to him in my absence? _

Armie keeps shaking his head, as though he still can’t quite make sense of it all, still in shock. He almost killed him. "I'm such an asshole…"

Why were they whispering? Timmy shakes his head. He is tired, he can't do much more than that.

"I should have asked. I should have-"

"You didn't know."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

Timmy smiles. "After all this, Professor, if you think I will ever have the strength to say no to you... do you even know me?"

It is too dark to see the whites of his eyes. The moonlight plays its tricks. The glaze in the Professor's eyes must be its mischief. It must be.

He cups his jaw in that huge palm of his with its naked fingers, "Still?"

Timmy closes his eyes with the touch, turns his face and buries his mouth in that palm, kissing it. It's still the same, soft and reeking of ink and crisp paper. There's no need for words, they sit naked before each other.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_ 2026 _

When was the last time Timmy had woken up naturally without the shrill noise of his alarm? He can't remember. Probably when life was much simpler. When it was up to him if he wanted to miss classes. Never Professor Hammer's class though; he would wake up at the crack of dawn to attend his class even if it meant he would doze off during. He doesn't have that option now. He can't miss a single show without it being previously discussed. So his alarm is set for six o'clock every morning no matter what. He has a routine without which he feels as though he will fail. 

His eyes catch the tiny furrowed skin between the Professor's brows when his vision finally clears. He is still asleep, but he won't be if Timmy doesn't stop his alarm. So he does, and places a soft kiss between his brows, almost not touching, because touches as such are not allowed in full awareness, not now. Only in the tender hour of dawn, pressed between dreams and consciousness, are they tolerated. And the crease slowly but surely disappears. The Professor looks younger when he sleeps, his professional mask taken off - Timmy misses that. He misses that still when he sleeps with someone new and finds them looking the same the next morning. Hammer always looked older for his age. Not his fault. Just his giant structure. That's what disgusted people about them. That's what caused his mom to worry. The words thrown around still echo in his mind, they haunt his dreams.

Nine years. It's not much. Nobody bats an eyelash when a forty-year-old is dating a forty-nine-year-old. Especially if a woman is the younger partner. Why is it an abomination when the people involved are younger? 

Nobody would care if they dated now as they are older. Something as pure as this was disturbed by man-made standards. Now, look at where they are. Timmy - half a man. Scorning at his youthful years with disgust. The Professor - sleeping with his ex-student while his wife's picture stares at them from the bedside table. How happy they look there. Her bright white teeth outshining his as they stand by Niagara Falls, the Professor holding her from behind in his loving arms. 

Maybe Timmy is the only one who was affected by all this. 

In the darkness of the night, Timmy didn't see anything but sapphire blue, naked body, muscled but agile above him, glistening with sweat at times, and then the night breeze calmed him, licked the beads off his skin, hidden from Timmy’s eyes. But now in the young light of the morning, Timmy sees everything. He sees the presence of another everywhere. The room has a feminine touch now that it lacked before, back when falling onto the bed in tangled limps didn’t feel like a sin, when the memory of the night before wouldn’t be tainted with repugnance. The presence is even evident on his Professor. From the ring that disturbed their lovemaking to the way he wears his hair. But now, stripped from the hairdo and his clothes, his Professor felt like his again.  _ For a little while?  _

Just as his drowsy vision focuses on Hammer, it is as though his bad angel has been kicked off his shoulder by his good one. And he sees Hammer for who he is - a married man who is cheating on his wife, someone else’s guy, a grown man who thought nothing of fucking and dating his student. It fills Timmy’s mouth with bile. Even without recalling the minute details, Timmy is hit with the revulsion that he has cultivated through the years. 

Before he can get a second thought, he finds his pants, shirt, and coat, and dashes out of the apartment, wrapping his scarf around his neck. The wind bites like darts sticking into his cheeks and eyes. Under the scarf, his hidden mouth huffs in its silent howl.

When he gets to the metro station, he is seven minutes early for the next train. He leans against the dirty wall. How far away yesterday morning seems. He can’t believe he is here again. He  _ hates  _ this feeling of filth. As soon as he gets the slightest vibe of this filth from someone, something that had found its inception in the Professor, he runs away as fast and as far away from it as he can. This is one of the reasons why he disconnected himself from everything, every social media where he saw the smiling faces of the wicked man and his pure, beautiful wife. Did she know? Timmy hopes to god she does, at least now. 

He rubs his eyes clear. That metal rub again, that disturbed his pleasures last night. That metal rub again against the tender skin around his eyes. When he opens his eyes, he sees the offending golden band around his finger.

* * *

_ December 3, 2019 _

_ Why is she taking so fucking long? What the fuck are they talking about? God! At least  _ try  _ to hide your blush! _

Timmy was running out of things to put in his bag, and of patience. The girl talking (read: flirting) with Professor Hammer, was also prolonging her stay hiding the same purpose that Timmy was - to find the Professor alone and have his whole attention. 

But Timmy was determined. It was the promised day. He didn't care if he had to talk to Armie in front of the girl. Nothing could stop him now. He was on cloud nine. 

And ( _ thank fuck!)  _ the girl left as she sensed the determination in his steps and heard him clearing his throat. 

He tried to be not so giddy as last time, the very thought brought back a sense of nausea and shame. He was still not quite over it and sure wasn't about to let it happen again. "Hey." He contained his smile to being just-polite.

"Hello, Timotheé," said Armie, in his usual indifferent tone, knowing without looking who exactly it was, gathering his papers. But when he didn't get an answer, be did look up. "Yes?"

_ Fuck it.  _ Timmy hopped a little, grabbing Armie's face before he could protest, and kissed him square on the mouth. How could he not? This whole semester had been torture. More so after Armie had made the promise. His early morning lectures that would make Timmy semi-hard just watching his lips move. Timmy had long since stopped trying to prove himself because - first of all, he was embarrassed and knew that Armie saw right through him, he didn’t want to push it -  _ fuck, _ how could anyone possibly seem smart to him.  _ He is so fucking brilliant.  _ Brilliant, beautiful, and rich? There had to be a catch - or so Saoirse thought. Timmy could not disagree more. Armie was perfect. 

Armie, in turn, did not call Timmy out in class. His keen eyes saw everything that happened. Sometimes Timmy would doze off, then shake his head, and then drink water from his bottle. Then he would find Armie giving his lecture, directly looking at him. That was his sign. Sometimes Timmy would find his mouth slightly ajar, his head resting on his palm while staring at the Professor, lost in the thought of future that was full of possibilities. The first date, first Christmas, first birthday together, lazy afternoons, weekends, cooking dinner, and then, naughtier thoughts. Armie, with an intent glance, would then clear his thought.

They were both avoiding talking to each other unless it was absolutely necessary. Because how do you talk to your professor/student with the knowledge that he is your potential date? They were scared, as well, of ruining it by talking before they were ready. For a while, Timmy had thought Armie had forgotten, had reconsidered, had met someone better who had a brain for a change, had stopped giving a shit about his idiot student. And Armie had thought Timmy had gotten bored, was definitely sleeping with someone interesting and not old - why wouldn’t he, he was a college student?

But no, none of that. The shared smirks, the silent signs, the smiles at the end of the class, the ‘see you Monday’s - they were all the reassurance they needed. 

And  _ this _ . 

He dared. He fucking dared to make a tiny sound at the back of his throat. What he noticed, after he let Armie go was that the Professor neither tried to stop him nor push him away. But he was startled. His hands beside him in the air still. His brows raised. And a shit-eating grin on Timmy’s face.

“Timothée!” he warned in a hushed tone and checked the empty doorway.

“Sorry. Sorry.” said Timmy, raising his hands and backing away a little.

“No, you’re not.”

Timmy shook his head. As Armie goes back to sorting the papers, Timmy continues. “So, we can, like, meet up now?” He had practiced this conversation so many times. It could not go wrong. “Like, maybe after you’re off today, we can talk?”

Armie furrows his brows. “I finish at three. You want to meet up at _ three _ ?”

Timmy nods eagerly. “Sure. There’s a cafe about a block…” he trails off as he sees Armie closing his eyes and sighing. 

“Kids…” he says under his breath. Finally, he makes eye contact and the look almost scares Timmy. “I am taking you out to dinner. Friday. I’ll make a reservation and pick you up at seven. Sound good?”

Timmy nods, dumbstruck.  _ Professor Hammer is gonna pick me up for dinner! Take that, Saoirse! _

“Now, I have to go. I’m sure you have to as well.”

Timmy let him go but then he remembered. He got his phone out of his pocket. “Wait, Armie, I need your number.” Armie did stop but he didn’t turn around. And when Timmy half-ran to him at the door, he saw his serious expression. Timmy began to panic. “I mean- I… if you- if you don’t mind, of course. It’s absolutely fine if you don’t want to. Can I? Could…”

“Who said it was okay to call me Armie?”

He’d done it again. He wanted to dig a hole in this concrete and bury himself in it. “I… I can-”

“Still Professor Hammer.”

Timmy nodded. His eyes wide and scared.

“The results aren’t out yet.”

“No,” he agreed dumbly. “...And when is it? Out… I mean.”

“Three days.” Armie snatched the phone from his hand and started typing fast. A tiny smirk appearing on those perfect lips. Then he hands it back.

_ Asshole...  _

“See you Friday, Ti… ‘Timmy’, you said?” said Armie, already walking away, not waiting for an answer.

Timmy stood there for a moment. On the phone, the Professor had saved his number under ‘Armie’.

_ Asshole! _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to cram it all in one chapter... I failed. So there are gonna be 6 chapters and an epilogue.
> 
> Also, apologies for any typos. Uploading this from phone.

_2019_

"Hey, Chalamet, heard you switched sides?" said Ansel, from two tables away in the cafeteria.

Timmy had known him since middle school. He had grown seven niches in one summer and was the butt of the joke ever since. Nothing too serious though. The bullies never think they are bullies cause 'we're just playing y'know.' Timmy never was rude to him - meaning he didn't talk to him at all. He didn't want to get tangled into any of it. But he remembered the first time they ran into each other on campus. Ansel's eyes had turned into two big orbs and, as Timmy said hello, glad to find a familiar face among strangers, Ansel had fled - straightened his back and marched straight ahead. It turned out that they were placed in the same dorm. Apparently he had now become a ladies man, a famous fuckboy that girls pretended to hate. And now he and Timmy awkwardly ignored each other whenever their paths crossed, until today. 

So Timmy furrowed his brows for more than one reason. "Meaning?"

"Heard someone saw you shoving your tongue down some professor's throat the other day. From philosophy department."

A chilling air grasped his lungs and the sensation ran through the whole of his insides. "Excuse me?!"

Ansel could see the anger and fear in his eyes. He chuckled and tried to pass it as a joke. "Come on, man, I'm only teasing." When Timmy still stared at him, unable to talk, Ansel walked up to him and touched his shoulder. His tone was serious now but Timmy didn't appreciate him touching him. "Hey, I'm sorry. I was kidding. I didn't mean-"

"Is it Professor Hammer?" came a female voice from another table. Timmy's shock and silence only confirmed it. "Oh my god, I knew he was hooking up with students! He's too ridiculously handsome to not to be the type."

Timmy looked at Saoirse sitting opposite him. But as she opened her mouth to protest, a friend of the girl half ran to Timmy excitedly. "Is he as hot as he seems through those designer suits? 'Cause I sometimes think he's wearing spandex or something. His body is insane! Does he?"

"Can we be friends?" Squealed another. "I've never had a gay friend!"

"Will you listen to yourself!" Saoirse yelled. 

It did make everyone shut up and forced out another 'sorry' from Ansel (to which Saoirse's answer was short and simple. "Fuck you.") She grasped Timmy's hand and marched out.

They sat still for a long while on a patch of grass, looking at nothing. "Fuck…" Timmy breathed finally. "Fuck, he's gonna kill me."

"Is that true… what that guy said?"

"No… we never kissed in public. At least not since we officially started dating."

"Timmy… you're gay." Saoirse looked at him.

"I know…"

"Why didn't you tell me? And why didn't you tell me about Hammer?"

"It wasn't my secret to tell… the second part, I mean."

"And the first?"

"I don't know, Saoirse. I haven't really thought about much, to be honest. At first I wasn't sure. And when I was, then I wasn't ready I guess."

Saoirse took a deep breath. "I hope you know what you're doing, Timmy."

He shook his head. "He's gonna kill me."

He wasn't going to kill him, Timmy knew. What he feared was something much more serious. He was afraid that Armie would think he had spread the rumor or was boasting to his friends. He was afraid Armie would end it. _Christ, this will be a record._ It hadn't even been two weeks. 

So he took a deep breath before he rang the bell that evening. He was buzzed in and, as he timidly walked in, he found the Professor in the kitchen, chopping tomatoes on a cutting board, a glass of wine sitting on the aisle. Timmy put his bag on one of the chairs. He knew from the way the Professor finally looked at him that he knew. 

"Look… I-" Timmy started but was cut off.

"I got called into the dean's office today."

Timmy covered his mouth in shock. "You're not sacked…"

"No, I'm not sacked, Timmy." 

Timmy let out the breath he was holding. " Oh, thank god…" He flopped onto a chair, dropping his head onto his hands. "I don't know if I could bear it if you were."

"They just wanted to make sure it was… alright, if it had started while you were still in my class. Which then - as much as I hated it - I lied and said it didn't, and…" Armie trailed off, still cutting vegetables, as though there were things that he was feeling but couldn't talk about. _ Guilt, shame, embarrassment, what? _

Timmy looked at his face, brows furrowed, looking intently at the greens in front of him, a dark shadow over his face. He stood up and walked around the aisle to get to him. He hugged him softly from behind, kissing his shoulder. "I thought you'd blame me."

"For what?"

"For spreading the news or whatever."

"How did you hear about it?"

Timmy sighed. "This guy I know from Middle School..."

Armie finally stopped chopping and turned around in Timmy arms so Timmy could burry his face into his neck and shoulder and breath in his scent. "What did he say?" he asked cautiously.

"He basically… he outed me. In front of people."

Armie wrapped his arms around him, putting his fingers in his hair and softly massaging. He kissed his temple. And under his breath he said - Timmy could just make out two words - "oh, sweetheart…"

This was all new to them. Who knew the stoic professor hid this amount of care and gentleness in him?

"Why did you think I'd blame you?"

Timmy shrugged. "I dunno… I'm young and an idiot. Any rational person's first guess would be that I blabbered about it."

Armie was silent for quite a while. And Timmy thought their conversation had ended before Armie took a deep breath. "But, Timmy, I _ trust _ you…"

Timmy lifted his head and kissed the man. He felt something that he had never felt before. Is this what it was like to date actual adults? The deletion of distrust and jealousy and petty rows? _ I'm never dating people my age ever again. _ "Can I stay for dinner?" 

"Ah, no."

Timmy let out a whine. "Why? I'll help!" said he, taking the knife off the cutting board, ready to chop the next vegetable he saw.

Armie furrowed his brows and carefully took the knife from him. "You wanna stay for dinner, then you'll want to stay the night, and we all know what you want in the night."

"I won't, I won't. I promise. We'll just cuddle."

Armie thinks for a second. "You'll take the couch."

"Now that is just cruel."

But of course they ended up in bed together. _ Only _ cuddling, as promised - much to Timmy's dismay. When Armie said he wanted to start again, he _ meant _ it. But this wasn't bad. Compared to where they'd been, compared to what the whole day had been like, this wasn't bad. Their relationship wasn't a secret anymore. Timmy hadn't realized that it was at some point. But not after December 3rd, and _ definitely _not now. It had all seemed so easy from then that they never stopped to think it all through. But now, after the day's occurrences, even innocent cuddling in bed while bantering about the pretentiousness of philosophy seemed salacious.


	6. Chapter 6

2019

_ Three weeks! Three fucking weeks! _

It had been three weeks after Armie had taken him out for dinner that he allowed Timmy to climb onto his lap and unzip those godforsaken pants that made his ass look glorious - _well, as glorious as it can be without showing skin, which is - wow..._ Without the pants, Armie was something else. He had grabbed that butt at least seventy times in the last three weeks under the guise of laughing to hard and forgetting where his hand was; at first, Armie had just stood still, but when he understood his game, he slapped Timmy’s hand away, uttering a “not yet” every time. When this ‘yet’ was going to end, Timmy was eager to know. And it turned out to be the day before Christmas eve, the day before he was to go to his parents’ place.

“I hate the thought of you wandering around in this gloomy apartment alone on Christmas,” Timmy had said.

Armie had chuckled at his childish, worried voice because for the past decade or so, this was the way he had been spending Christmas. The festival had lost its charm and he was used to this. To be perfectly honest, he rather enjoyed it. “I’ll be fine.” He added as an afterthought, “and my apartment isn’t gloomy.”

“Come with me.”

Armie had laughed louder.

Timmy had lifted his head off his shoulder to see Armie’s face and measure his next words. “I’m serious. Come with me.”

“I’m not going to your parents’ house for Christmas, Timmy.”

“Why not?” 

“Because we’ve barely started dating.”

“And what is wrong with that?”

“Everything.”

“_ Why? _” Timmy had whined.

Sighing, Armie had gotten up to start dinner. “Timmy, please, stop behaving like your classmates,” he’d said on his way to the kitchen.

By the time the water had boiled for the pasta, Armie knew he had upset Timmy. Usually - or the couple of times that Armie had allowed Timmy to stay the night - his younger partner would tail him to the kitchen and coax him into permitting him to hold him from behind or touch him here and there (specially the ass) while he cooked. But Timmy was still sat on the sofa, the tv still on, while he stared into the middle distance. Armie peeked at him from the kitchen, and Timmy had only furrowed his brows more.

When dinner was finally ready, Armie had walked to him and stood resting his hands on his hips like a schoolmaster. Timmy was now intendedly watching the tv. 

After a while, as Timmy kept ignoring his existence, Armie had said, “Come on, dinner’s ready.”

Timmy had taken a deep breath, still staring at the screen, he’d, said, “I don’t appreciate you treating me like I am a teenager. And I’m not like your fucking students.”

“I know. That’s why I asked you to stop acting like one.”

Timmy had gotten up and was headed towards his jacket by the door when Armie, chuckling at his own lame joke, stopped him, grabbing his bicep. “Hey, come on, Tim. Hey… I’m sorry, okay?”

Timmy, with his sulking subsiding already, had squeezed his arm out of Armie’s grasp. “Asshole…” he’d said under his breath. 

“Am I? And here I was thinking I’d let you fuck me tonight.” He pulled out an imaginary notebook from his pocket and mimed to cross something out on it. “Assholes are not so considerate.” 

Timmy had jumped him the next second. Dinner be fucked.

Armie didn’t want to let his hard work go to waste. He had lit candles and everything! But when Timmy, kissing his neck, tried to crawl onto his lap, he had let him, unlike the thousand times that Timmy had tried to do it before.

"How are you so good at that? How old are you actually, midget?" said Armie in his husky voice.

Timmy grabbed a handful of that golden hair and pulled. "I'm twenty-one, you fucking ogre. Or I will be in a few days."

"When's '_in a few days_'?"

"This week."

"This week? Is this the second _ coming _ of Jesus?"

"I'm two days late for that. It's the 27th FYI, before you make another weird joke about it."

By thet they got back to their dinner, his “special dinner” was cold, and the candles burned out. So they heated up the pasta and ate in bed in their birthday suit, with Armie warning Timmy to not spill a single drop of wine on the bed and Timmy ending up spilling some nonetheless. This was it, this was perfect.

And then Timmy had to leave the next day. And Armie spent a quiet Christmas with his phone silenced.

* * *

Timmy just wanted to surprise him. They hadn’t talked much on the phone either. The whole of Christmas eve and Christmas day, Timmy had been too busy mingling. And when finally at night he pulled his phone out, he found a sweet little Christmas wish from Armie. He had tried to call him several times, but Armie wouldn’t pick up, until, exhausted, Timmy had dozed off with his phone still pressed to his ears.

It happened during his birthday dinner. He was glad there were just the four of them - his parents, sister, and himself. What followed the next two days, Timmy did not want to recount, but he knew he would have to. He attempted to text Armie several times, but failed, questioning and second-guessing himself. He needed comfort. So, early the next morning, he packed his bag and set off hoping he could be with Armie till the dorms opened. 

He could hear the soothing music from outside. A smile rose on his face picturing Armie alone, maybe sipping wine by the fireplace, or cooking, or taking a shower. But then he concentrated and heard the buzz. Timmy wanted to bolt that instance but by the time he could move, Armie had already opened the door.

“Timmy?” His smile faltered but then was replaced by a genuine one. He kissed his cheek as always and rubbed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted to surprise you. Hey, I can come back later, if it’s...” he said tentatively, pointing at the room.

“And where you gonna go? Sit at a cafe the whole night?” Armie said, taking his bag and jacket from him. “Come on in. It’s just my colleagues.”

“You sure?”

Armie rolled his eyes. “Come on, Timmy,” he said, touching the small of his back and taking him to the living room. 

Timmy immediately felt extremely underdressed in his full sleeves and joggers. He looked at Armie in his turtleneck and rolled up sleeves looking perfect as ever as a Grecian god, and the women in their fitted dresses and jewelry that were probably diamonds, the men in their expensive suits and silk shirts. He felt every gaze gnawing at the back of his neck. Then he looked down at the wine in his hand. Perhaps more expensive than his semester fee. He lifted the glass to take a sip and ended up downing the whole thing. An older man that he had been talking to - some professor he didn’t know - stared at him with raised brows, judging as the experienced judge the young.

“Heavens,” the man tried to laugh it off. “I hope you are old enough to drink.”

“I just turned twenty-one actually,” said Timmy forcing a smile.

Timmy watched his gaze flicker to where Armie stood talking to a group and fall back on him. “Do your parents know about,” he pointed his glass at Armie, “about your relationship?”

Timmy didn’t trust his voice so he simply nodded.

“What do they say?” said the man, hiding his judgment behind a polite smile.

Timmy shrugged. “They say a lot of things. But I am an adult and this is my life.” Only after it left his mouth did Timmy realize that was exactly what a naive immature person would say, demanding their newfound adulthood.

The man’s smile tightened. “Of course, it is.” He clapped his shoulder and excused himself. 

Timmy wanted to hide. But instead, seeking comfort, he went to Armie, who took him under his arm while still engaged in conversation. Timmy was glad to notice that this group was a bit younger. But then their gaze slowly started fall onto Timmy in his _ stupid full sleeves and joggers. _ And they started showing their interest in him. The stares over their glasses while Armie stroked his back soothingly made him heat up and run out of breath in this cold December night.

This wasn’t what Armie had planned. When he had let Timmy in, he was glad that he would finally get this over with as there had been an awkward elephant in the room ever since he had been called to the dean’s office. He was somehwat proud to introduce him to his colleagues as well, to show off. He couldn't quite recognize this feeling. But he can’t blame Timmy. In fact, seeing Timmy at his doorstep had made him realize that, though he might have been content these past few days, he didn’t feel the truest happiness or excitement that he had felt the nights Timmy spent with him. It made him realize how in his young age, he had started to live like his colleagues. But now, feeling Timmy’s growing pulse under him, he is not sure what he feels. Of course, he heard what Professor Williams had just said to Timmy, of course, he can see the looks on his colleagues’ faces. Disgust for him and pity for Timmy. ‘Poor kid’, ‘what kind of a monster-’, ‘repulsive’, ‘should we report this?’, ‘but the dean already knows’, ‘that doesn’t make it right’. Armie was sure they were thinking, and perhaps saying worse things than that and the thought alone made him paranoid. He wanted this to be over. But he knew better than to let it show, unlike Timmy. So he waited. Waited until everybody was tired and wanted to go home. But he has never been so lucky. Just when people started to leave, a colleague, someone he had considered a friend, pulled him aside saying how happy he was for him but also voiced his “concerns”. Armie listened with a polite smile plastered on his face.

Exhausted, in every sense of the word, they flopped on the bed that night, lying staring at the darkened ceiling.

Timmy took a deep breath. “I came out to my parents.”

And another weight was dropped on Armie's chest.


	7. Chapter 7

_2019_

“What did they say?”

Timmy kept his gaze on the logs burning on the fireplace. What an extraordinary thing – he thought. The Professor allowed himself the pleasure only twice every year. Christmas and New Year’s Eve. The hypnotizing setting almost made him forget what Armie had just asked him.

He shook his head. Pushing his lips out, he said, “nothing much.” Then he thought. The dinner three nights prior. He had stopped enjoying his birthday a while ago. _You are nearing death, what is there to celebrate?_ He disliked the fuss, the unwanted attention, his family trying to keep him happy for the day. “Pauline laughed for a while. And my mom said that I can’t be gay, that I’ve always liked girls.”

The Professor sitting beside him was quiet for a while, calculating his next words. “Are they…?”

“Conservation? No. Not even homophobic as long as it is not happening too close to them.”

The Professor only hummed.

“I told them about you and my dad got mad. Mom started crying. She thinks I am trying to rebel as if it’s all about _her_. She called a therapist and booked a session for me. So I left without anybody noticing.”

Armie turns towards him on his sit. Timmy finally rips his gaze off the fire and looks at him. “Look, they’re probably worried. Don’t destroy your relationship over this, okay? They don’t have to understand it. Just pick up next time they call.”

How a person could be sympathetic to the people who had just called him names was beyond Timmy’s understandings. He had thought Armie would be mad at his parents, or perhaps mad at him for being a burden. But he was neither. He just looked thoughtful. So Timmy just nodded.

The clock struck twelve. They watched the illuminated sky and welcomed 2020 with a kiss.

* * *

“Okay, don’t be mad.”

Armie looked up from his book as the younger man entered the room. “What did you do?”

“My dad wants to talk to you.”

Armie wished he could slap himself. He was too old for this. “I thought I passed that stage,” he sighed and whispered to himself.

But he also understood the situation. Would he feel safe if his barely-adult son was practically living with his professor, a thirty-year-old creep? But was it his responsibility to prove himself to Timmy’s parents? Timmy was not underage, legally. Whatever decisions he took was his responsibility. Why did Armie have to answer for it? Yet, when the number Timmy gave him flashed on his phone, he picked up.

Timmy’s dad, Marc, was nothing but civil. Armie could not tell if it was because he used his “Professor voice” – Timmy’s words, not his – or because Marc was giving him a fair chance. But Armie appreciated the gesture. The days when he trembled upon seeing his girlfriends’ dads were long gone. So Armie did not hesitate when Marc invited him and Timmy for dinner. But in hindsight, he probably should have declined, inventing a lie about being too busy. Because Armie could sense, now that he had time to think about it, how awkward it would be meeting a boy’s parents who he hadn’t had the chance to fully know himself yet.

As for Timmy, he was excited, nervous and a little embarrassed. “Just ignore any silly things they might say, okay?” he said as they, hand in hand, walked into a flower shop to get a bouquet for his mom. “Because I know they will. They probably won't take this seriously either, and try to convince you that I’m not actually gay.” He took off his glove to touch a flower or two. “I appreciate this, by the way.” He looked back at Armie, flashing a smile. “I know, even if it’s not hard, it’s mildly annoying for you.”

“No, you’re fine.” Armie rubbed his arms from behind, kissing his head.

“I just want to thank you for doing this.”

“You can do that when we get home,” he whispered into Timmy’s ear and scraped his teeth along the tender and cold lob of his ear.

And as revenge, when Armie got to the counter to pay for the bouquet, Timmy walked up behind him and, grabbing his butt, squeezed as hard as he could.

The gasp that left Armie’s mouth as he pulled out his credit card from his wallet made the lady behind the counter look up, and her gaze fell straight onto Timmy’s half-hidden face behind Armie’s broad shoulder. But the smirk was visible in his eyes.

* * *

Everything was okay. Or so what they thought.

Timmy’s parents smiled and welcomed them in. They were nice enough. Armie couldn’t image them laughing or getting angry at their son for being gay.

The dinner was going smoothly. But soon, Armie could sense the pretense and the endeavor of seeming normal and polite. The tight smiles, the shared glances, not touching the subject they were gathered here for, not asking Timmy or Armie any questions that mattered, strictly sticking to all things professional. And then Armie’s gaze strayed to Nicole, Timmy’s mother. She was staring at him as though he was a predatory hyena sitting beside her baby deer, a hyena that was gentle still but could turn violent any minute now. A sense of shame surfaced. He looked at Timmy - innocently picking at his food, unaware of all this, smiling broadly at Pauline as he gossiped about things that seemed foreign to him now, things that he had left years ago. This was messed up. He was. And he was messing up this bright young man who had yet to experience such revulsion. Timmy had taken him with open arms. And when this momentary charm would disappear, Timmy would see this for what it was. And he would look at Armie with the same disgust that was now visible on Nicole’s face, and ask, ‘why did you do this to me? Why did you ruin my youth?’

Is this what Blake meant by innocence and experience?

The _idea_ was accepted by his family even though they were a little worried. But as soon as Armie had walked in, the hope that they'd held onto that their son was okay, that trembled. Armie's giant posture had always been a cause of intimidation, and his reserved personality didn’t help. And as is the old tradition of society, the first thing people think of when they see a gay couple is the image of them having sex. And even the thought terrified Nicole. She saw nothing but his baby boy being used by a grown giant of a man.

As though Nicole could read the thought on his face while Armie stared at Timmy, or perhaps it was _because_ of that expression that he held for Timmy, she called him. “Professor,” she started tentatively. “Do you have any plans?” 

It pulled him out of his trance. She could not have chosen a more vulnerable moment. “For?”

Pressing her lips together, she shook her head, waving in the general direction of him and Timmy.

_“Mom…”_ a hiss came from Timmy. The table fell silent.

“Honey, I’m just making conversation,” Nicole reassured Timmy.

“Mom, nous en avons parlé.” _(we’ve talked about this.)_

Had they? Timmy had not said anything to him. Seeing him getting flustered and angry, Armie rested his palm on Timmy’s and the next second regretted doing so as Nicole’s gaze followed that hand. “Tim,” he uttered under his breath. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not fine, Armie.” Timmy felt the need to raise his voice instead. “I know what this is. I know what she’s about to say.” Then he turned to his family. “Was this planned? Is this a fucking intervention or something?”

“Timothée, stop overreacting,” came Marc’s booming but calm voice.

“I was not overreacting when I talked with you people about _exactly _what I _did not_ want happening tonight,” said Timmy, punctuating every phrase with a thud on the wooden table.

“And your mother has not broken any of the rules you'd laid out.”

“She was about to.” Timmy looked at his mother, accusing her.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do, Timmy, but if you think I will stand by and watch you getting taken advantage of by your teacher, then you must be mad! Don’t you see,” she turned to Armie. “This is absolutely disgusting. How can you live with yourself? You ought to be reported. You should get yourself checked. Look at him,” she points at Timmy, “he’s just a _boy! _Was this your doing? You made him believe that he's gay, didn't you?"

It was when Armie opened his mouth that he realized the tightness of his lips. The air that blows out of his nose is hot as he sighs. He did not dare to look at the boy sitting beside him. He wiped his mouth with the cloth slowly, took a drink of the water. He was aware that Timmy was talking in a heated tone to his parents but he could not tell what. “Excuse me.” And he stood and walked out of the front door, taking his coat off the hanger.

The gray sky had not blessed the day with even a streak of sunlight. And the dying light of the day brought no consolation either. He stood there on the sidewalk, trying to come out of his daze and see through his blurred vision. Timmy soon followed him out.

“Armie,” he said softly, grabbing his bicep from behind. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to endure that. I’m never talking to them again.”

Armie closed his eyes. “You couldn’t have sounded more childish.” Smacking his lips, he got his arm out of Timmy’s grip to face him. “Go inside.”

He was met with puzzlement in Timmy’s eyes. “Let’s just go home. And when we’re well-rested, we’ll talk about this if you want. Frankly, I don’t want to mention this dinner ever in my life. But if you want, we’ll talk. But you need to know that not a single thing that mom said is true, okay?”

Armie nodded. The air he breathed out turned into fog. “Go inside.”

“Do you want to be alone?” Timmy waited for an answer that didn’t come. “We’ll take separate cabs then.”

Armie smacked his lips again, losing patience. “Timmy, please go inside so I can get a cab and go home.”

The self-conscious, the not-so-cheeky Timmy, the Timmy that he had scolded after his lecture that day - he made a return and Armie felt sorry. “You don’t want me to go with you?”

“I can’t do this.”

“We don’t have to. I said, we can just forget that this happened. I’ll crash somewhere tonight, and we’ll see each other tomorrow, okay?” said Timmy desperately.

“No, Timmy.” He looked at Timmy as he truly was. Just a boy with Armie’s filthy fingermarks all over him. He looked at his scarf that was hiding a bruise that he had given him last night. This was messed up and he had messed up Timmy. “I can’t do _this_,” he shook his head. "Because it's not just them. I look at myself and I am disgusted. Because the rules are there for a reason."

"And I am not worth this fight?"

Armie took a breath. "To be honest, no."

Timmy frowned and a drop of tear slid down his cheek.

"Look, Timmy, we don't even know each other properly yet. We have to face the truth. It wasn’t love at first sight because no such thing exists. I like you. Very much. But what I am going through… I don't think it's worth fighting the whole world. It's not fair. For either of us."

"Fuck you."

“Timmy, please, go inside,” he begged

“No, I won’t fucking go inside,” Timmy yelled, pushing against Armie’s chest with both hands but doing nothing to budge him. “You fucking coward! I speak up for you. I fought my family for you. And you’re giving me up just like that. Did you ever even give this a proper shot? I'll always be your inferior and I'll never be worth it!”

Armie’s gaze drifted towards the slightly ajar door. Pauline was looking at them; her body hidden behind while her face displayed uneasiness.

Armie hailed a cab. Opening the door, he looked back at the reddened face of someone who he had thought he could make his own. “It’s gonna be alright, Timmy.” He got in and the car rode away.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time, truly, this is the last chapter

_2026_

How many starts, how many do-overs can you get before you realize it's a dead-end?

Pauline's words ring in his ears to this day. Especially when he is in the arms of another and it reminds him of his disastrous fling. Especially when any older man approaches him. Especially now as he dashes through the busy crowd of early morning, through the biting wind, fighting the moisture in his stinging eyes. "Baby Boy,” she used to call him. Not anymore. “He’s old.”

“He’s not old,” he said, defending the traitor while Pauline brushed his hair with her fingers, sitting on his childhood bed.

“He is for you. You gotta understand, Timbo. Gotta think this through. You don’t know how fucked up people can be. For all we know, he might be a pedophile. I know you think you’re an adult, but you’re barely one. He’s your professor, he never should have looked at you this way in the first place. That’s disgusting. How do you think mom and dad feel right now? They feel protective of you. And all of a sudden you say that you’re gay… because of your professor? He tried to seduce you because you’re gullible and young.”

“He didn’t. I went after him.”

“Did you? You sure he didn’t lead you that way?”

All those heated glances, calling him out in class, luring people in with his charm, coming out of the bar for a smoke exactly where Timmy was standing. It had always been Armie’s call. Timmy was just a pawn who thought he was in charge but, in actuality, didn’t have control over his own actions.

And now the Professor was playing again.

Timmy roughly smudges away his tears as he rushes into the elevator. When the Professor opens the door, he is wearing a soft smile and no shirt.

“You came back,” he half-whispers, sighing. “I thought you were still mad at me,” he adds tentatively.

Timmy nods, pulls the pathetic gold band out of his pocket and holds it in front of him. He intends to confront the Professor once and for all without letting his voice shake. “What is this?”

“It's... my wedding ring.”

“Yeah, what's it doing on my finger?”

“Timmy,” says Armie, a frown forming on his forehead. “You asked me to put it on you.”

“No, I didn't. Don’t fuck with me,” he harshly shoves the ring onto the Professor's palm.

“Timmy, you _did. _Last night… I-” 

Timmy thought back to the darkness in which he had seen fireworks behind his eyes. The hushed words exchanged between them. So much denial, such forced acquiesce that has smudged his memory of this tender moment of swapping promises. "No, I didn't…?" he whispered to himself.

“Why would I lie?”

Why would he? No, he would not lie. The Professor is many things but not a liar. Hence the reputation of being an asshole. Nobody likes hearing the truth.

Armie touches his arm. “Are you okay? Do you wanna, maybe, sit down, or-“

“This is fucked up.”

“It isn't.”

“No? Why? Isn't it exactly why you left me in the street that day?”

“Yes, that's why I left you. Because I was an idiot. I shouldn't have cared what my colleagues thought or your family. I shouldn't have given a damn about what the world saw us as. But I did. And, along with you, I lost something that I never found again. Probably never will. And when I found a hint of that in someone else, I married her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Timmy spits. “My friends wouldn't stop sending me the fucking posts that your wife made.”

“Please don't talk about her like that.”

Timmy nods. “Right, I shouldn't. She probably has no idea about your fucked up double life. Poor woman. Or do you have some sort of an arrangement? You fuck students while she's out of town on business meetings or some shit?” Timmy waits for the professor to answer, to defend himself, or to confess. Whatever it is. He needs to know. He needs to know how a man such as him can live with himself where their fling has torn Timmy into pieces and scarred him forever. But the answer does not come. Armie remains quiet. And if Timmy’s own eyes weren’t filled with tears of anger, he would swear the Professor’s eyes have turned pinkish. Has he hurt him? Timmy could not stand the idea. How the Professor’s eyes have turned from being excited upon seeing him to being sad and confused upon being confronted, to being devastated. It’s what a person looks like when a dear one hurts them. Timmy fights the urge to take him in his arms, because this is weakness, and it is because of this weakness that he suffers still.

Armie is silent for a long time before he opens his mouth. “You don't know, do you?” Now it’s Timmy’s turn to remain quiet. “My wife had cancer.”

_Had… had_. His mouth fills with bile. He looks into the apartment, his eyes wondering. It is filled with pictures of a woman who no longer lives there. Books, vases, chairs - arranged in a certain way that haven't been moved, have been kept the same way for a while now. In remembrance. “Even… even when you married her?” he whispers. 

“Even then.” Armie pauses to arrange his words. “I had refused happiness once, I wouldn't do that again. No matter how little time I got to have that for. However selfish that may sound, that’s what I did.”

“So you didn’t… you didn’t cheat.”

“Do you really think so little of me, Timmy?”

“I thought the world of you. Then you left me. We didn’t know each other, like you said. What was I supposed to make of that?”

"I was wrong. All along, I've been wrong. At thirty, surrounded by scholars and idiotic students, I thought I'd seen the world, have known every curve of the human mind. And so I saw everything you did as nothing but immature shits kids do. What you gave me in abandon, I hardly recognized it as anything different. And you gave it so easily and unabashedly. I remember thinking that it shouldn’t have come so easily, so it must mean that it was all one of those immature shits. But when I'd come to know love, I realized at that moment what I felt for you wasn't just anything. I'd loved without knowing how. Heck, I don't even know when in that small period of time my mind had tricked me without my permission. But that's also because perhaps it doesn't happen in a singular moment, we only realize it at a certain time. But when we do, we're already in love. So we don't really know when it all happened... I'm not making much sense, am I?” Armie sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “I'd known love through my wife, and through her, I'd known that I loved you. You've given me too many chances before. I won't bully you by asking for another. But know that I did love you. And I'd done you wrong because I am an idiot. Maybe I still love you, I don't trust my senses as I used to. Or maybe I'll start loving you again the second you open your arms for me. You were the grown-up. You understood things I was too stupid to understand. You were capable of feeling things that I failed to. You knew this was worth it and I didn’t. You, open and young, gave this a proper chance whereas I was too crippled and cold to think something so amazing could happen to me. I was afraid, I was a coward. I was scared I would mess you up. I felt responsible. I _was _responsible. You almost broke connections with your family. And that was just the beginning. I couldn't bring myself to think that you would have to go through so much, give up everything and everyone you hold dear, just to be with me. And I didn't know that I hurt you because I didn't want to hurt myself.... You were worth everything..."

This is the same person that Timmy has made up in his brain? But the Professor he dated for a month seven years ago was an arrogant, seductive, disgusting pedophile who had ruined and damaged Timmy’s ability to be with another person, who used him and when fun was over, left him in the street. And he hated him. He _hated_ him, didn’t he?

_Don’t I?_

Timmy pulls the Professor into an embrace and hears his breath shudder.

No, he doesn’t hate him. He wanted to. “I can’t hate you,” he whispers. “I tried so hard to. I told myself you were bad for me. And you were, y’know. But the rest… I lied to myself. I devoured every word my family said and made myself believe it because I would hate you but I wouldn’t be heartbroken. Better to hate you than want you back, right?”

When Armie speaks, his voice is heavy. “I can’t ask you-“

Timmy can’t stand not seeing his face, so he pulls back but doesn’t let go of his abdomen, he’s not ready to be separated just yet. He touches his cheek tenderly; it’s warm. It is the same man he held in his arms seven years ago, yet he is not the same at all. And what he feels for him now is even stronger – this man who has been through so much, has discovered so much, has grown, who now has the strength to look at himself and admit. Timmy brings his lips down to his own and touches them with his cold ones. He opens his mouth and lets him in, perhaps for the first time, with love. “After all this time… if you think I’ll ever have the strength to say no to you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot. Then I fell in love with Professor Hammer and broken boy Timmy. And here we are. Sorry for dragging this on and on, and THANK YOU for commenting and for the kudos! <3  



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